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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Any luck, Mr. Crawshay?" Crawshay laid his hat and coat upon the table and mixed himself a whisky and soda. "I am not sure," he replied thoughtfully. "Are you any good at English history, Brightman?" "I won an exhibition in my younger days," the detective replied. "I used to consider myself rather great on history." "Who won the Wars of the Roses?" "The Lancastrians, of course." Crawshay nodded.
Suppose his chest had indeed been rifled, and emptied of every silver thing but one; that one remaining piece of silver, seen of men, was quite enough to cast Raffles into the outer darkness of penal servitude! And Crawshay was capable of it of perceiving the insidious revenge of taking it without compunction or remorse. There was only one course for me.
"The cleverest and hardest men in the world," Crawshay observed, "generally meet with their Waterloo at the hands of your sex. So far as I am concerned, I am myself in distress. I am jealous of Jocelyn Thew." "You're bearing up!"
You know I had my training at Scotland Yard, but out in the States I found that I simply had to forget all that I knew. Their methods are entirely different from ours, and you see what a failure I have made of it. I have let them get away with the papers under my very nose." "I can't see that you were very much to blame, Mr. Crawshay," the detective observed.
"For to-night it is a shelter, after that it would be a trap. But about Bithri; I don't like to give up the idea of rescuing our country- people there. Still, although the matter has been left to my discretion, I cannot risk losing the whole squadron." "What is the castle like, Warrener? have you heard?" Captain Crawshay asked. "A square building, with high walls, and a deep moat.
Katharine Beverley didn't come across the Atlantic for her health, and Dick Beverley didn't join that little dinner party for nothing to-night. They both of them did as they were told, and they had to do it." "This, I must confess," Crawshay murmured, smoothly and mendaciously, "puzzles me. Your idea is, then, that Jocelyn Thew has some hold over them?" She laughed at him a little contemptuously.
There were minutes of breathless silence. Then Crawshay, as the last sheet slipped through his fingers, glanced stealthily into Brightman's face, saw him bite through his lips till the blood came and strike the table with his clenched fist. "My God!" he exclaimed, snatching up the telephone receiver. "Jocelyn Thew has done us again!" "And you let him walk out!" Crawshay groaned.
Crawshay smiled appreciatively. "Into the heart of things, then! Let me tell you that I suspect a conspiracy on board this boat." "Of what nature?" the captain asked swiftly.
Their conversation was interrupted by the tinkle of the telephone which stood upon the table between them, the instrument which both men had been watching anxiously. Hobson snatched up the receiver. "Police headquarters speaking? Right! Yes, this is Sam Hobson. I'm here with Crawshay, of the English Secret Service. We got your dispatch. What's that? Well? Chief Downs is on the way, eh?
"The last time I saw him I could have sworn that I had him booked for Sing Sing prison. He got out of it, as he always has done. Some one else paid. It was the greatest failure I had when I was in the States. So he is in this thing, is he?" "He is not only very much in it," Crawshay replied, "but he is the brains of the whole expedition.
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